


Horizontal Velocity

by CleverSnail



Series: Space Between Us [5]
Category: The LEGO Movie (2014)
Genre: M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleverSnail/pseuds/CleverSnail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course Benny celebrates the 45th anniversary of Apollo 11’s lunar landing with Bad Cop. Of course it turns smutty. </p>
<p>Set in the Space Between Us GrittyFluff AU, following the events of SBU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Horizontal Velocity

It’s a blazing hot late July night. The ceiling fan whirs gently overhead, moving the heat in sweltering circles. The grainy, washed-out black and white film on the tv makes the entire dark room flicker slightly. The lunar surface rotates by on the screen like a close-up of a soccer ball. It’s pockmarked. Soft-looking. Scarred and beautiful at once. Bad Cop watches it wheel over and over, his right arm hitched up under his head like a pillow. It’s mesmerizing to watch, like the ocean, or a campfire.

He’s sprawled lengthwise on Benny’s monstrous 1980s couch, shirtless and sweating, his rumpled boxers hooked demurely around one ankle still. Benny’s pressed tight against his back, naked and slippery with sweat. The drone of CAPCOM chatter accompanies the footage on the screen, but Bad Cop barely registers it. He’s listening to Benny’s commentary, low and soft in his left ear, and feeling the slow, slick, hard push of Benny’s cock against him. Benny’s crooning science in a sly bid to get laid—as per usual—and Bad Cop’s seeing stars. He knows he’s slowly losing the game, as he always does, but dammit he’ll make Benny work for a piece of ass tonight. And he’ll enjoy every minute of it.

Benny runs his left hand the length of Bad Cop’s torso, palm pressing hard against the landscape of muscles there. His tongue flits briefly across Bad Cop’s shoulder as he watches the screen.

“Armstrong and Aldrin are just 2000 feet above the surface of the moon now, B. Alarms are going off all around them, lights flashing on the instrument panels.” Benny slides his hips back, the head of his cock warm and smooth, bumping tantalizingly against Bad Cop’s tailbone. He nips at the back of Bad Cop’s neck, flicks his earlobe with his tongue.

“Are the alarms real? Should they be believed?” Benny’s lips brush his earlobe with every word. The sensation sends sparks down his spine.

Benny presses his hips forward, grinds his cock against Bad Cop’s backside. Bad Cop bites his lip, stifling a groan. He can hear Benny grinning as he speaks: “Armstrong says fuck it. Do or die time. Screw the alarms. He resets them to zero, B., and flies on.”

Benny’s hand comes to rest on Bad Cop’s belly, tugs gently, absently at the curls there. The moon spins on, over and over on the screen before them. Fingers ghost lower, curl quickly around Bad Cop’s own hard cock, and then release. Bad Cop writhes, despite himself.

“Armstrong’s got to find a place to land.” Benny traces a leisurely line with his fingers from Bad Cop’s collar bone to his hip, mimicking the flightpath of the Lunar Module. “But they discover that the landing site they’d planned on is actually covered in boulders. Huge, _massive rocks_.” And Benny’s got him by the balls before he can even register what’s happening. Bad Cop jumps and Benny laughs low in his ear.

“Devil,” growls Bad Cop, and Benny gives his earlobe a good firm sucking just to prove his point. And then continues on with the lesson.

“Now listen B., Armstrong’s a damned fine pilot. He could make that landing in a pinch—on the Earth. But here on the moon—this is a different ballgame.” Benny’s careful, firm fingers squeeze him, caress him, massage him, move up from his balls and slide eagerly around his cock. Bad Cop moans into his arm. Benny pauses to kiss a wet line across Bad Cop’s sweat-slicked shoulders, licks the salt from his lips before continuing.

“In the end, Armstrong decides he can’t risk it. He’s got to perform another burn, use 36 more seconds of fuel to get past the rocks, but B.—he doesn’t _know_ what’s past the rocks. He can’t see past them. It’s a gamble. Aldrin’s calling out altitude and velocity all this time, and the numbers are getting smaller and smaller.”

Benny’s working Bad Cop’s cock like a professional now, with a quick flick of the thumb from time to time to draw the slick bead forming at the tip down and around his cockhead, and lower, along his hard shaft. Bad Cop knows he’s losing all control, but can’t stop thrusting into Benny’s warm slippery hand. Benny’s voice seems very far away.

“They’re crushed together in this tiny, fragile little craft. The vacuum of space is all around them. If they slip up with this landing, cripple the Eagle, they’re dead men. Armstrong knows all this when he takes that gamble. And B., it pays off. Just beyond the field of boulders, Armstrong sees a new landing site between two craters. It’s smooth terrain. He’s gonna put her down there.”

Benny releases him suddenly. Bad Cop immediately clutches at his abandoned cock, swallowing a whine. Benny deftly tucks his hand between Bad Cop’s thighs, begins to slide it up towards the juncture of his legs. With a moan, Bad Cop surrenders at last, parts his legs. Benny kisses his neck sweetly. He knows he’s won.

“They’re only at 300 feet altitude now, B. Armstrong pitches the Eagle back—he’s got to slow her. Aldrin calls for him to ease her down onto the surface; his eyes are on the dwindling fuel. Armstrong takes manual control now.” Benny presses a fingertip ever so slightly into Bad Cop’s most sensitive flesh. He arches his back, groans. Pushes back against Benny, urging him deeper.

Benny removes his hand, digs in the cushions of the couch, searching. All the while keeps up his monologue. Bad Cop realizes Benny’s not even looking at the tv anymore. He knows the entire lunar landing by heart. Inside and out.

“Altitude and velocity warning lights flash on. The radar’s lost track of the lunar surface. They’re flying by feel now, B., imagining the lunar landscape beneath them.” Benny pauses and quickly slickens his finger with the contents of a small tube produced from the cushions. Bad Cop glances over his shoulder, does a double-take.

“Where in the fuck did you get that? You stash lube in your _couch_? Jesus, Ben.”

“Shhh. You’re ruining the story.”

“I’m not ruining any damned th—” and suddenly that slick finger’s in a delightfully distracting place, and Bad Cop decides he’s done talking.

“The Eagle’s descending to 200, 160 feet, closer and closer. Aldrin’s calm and steady, still calling out the altitude, giving Armstrong little pep talks. Fuel dips to 5% and the fuel quantity light goes on. That’s a signal, B.”

Bad Cop nods and ‘mmm-hmm’s, but all of his attention is focused on the feeling of the slippery finger deep inside him, urging him open. He works to relax himself, bucks back to feel the amazing sensation there. He wants more and Benny knows it. Benny’s already slicking up a second finger on the backstroke.

“So, Aldrin and Armstrong have exactly 94 seconds from that point—the appearance of the fuel quantity light—until their final do-or-die moment: land or abort. Put the craft down in 20 seconds or abort and fire retros to head back into orbit. And say goodbye to the moon and prepare to stew for the rest of your life.”

Bad Cop’s rocking back hard onto Benny’s fingers now, holding onto the couch for more traction. He’s desperate to be filled, but he will not beg. _Will not_.

And he doesn’t have to.

Benny quiets him with a hand on his shoulder, and slides the other free. Quickly coats his cock. On the tv, the ghostly dark shadow of the Lunar Module suddenly appears on the blindingly bright surface of the moon. Benny spreads Bad Cop’s legs.

“They’re at 75 feet altitude and their radar drops out, B. They’re on visual now. Aldrin looks out and he sees their shadow on the lunar surface. The engines are kicking up moondust everywhere. It gets harder and harder to see. Armstrong’s flying blind again.”

Benny guides his cock to the soft, sensitive skin between Bad Cop’s legs, presses, presses, keeps up the pressure. Bad Cop wills himself to relax, is quietly thankful for Benny’s patience. Is quietly thankful for _Benny_. And slowly, slowly, slowly, Benny sinks in, smooth and hard and slick. Bad Cop pushes boldly back to meet him, panting hard through the stinging stretch and the pressure. By some bizarre miracle, Benny’s _still_ narrating, even as his breaths are coming in gasps.

“Thirty feet above the moon and the craft begins to pick up backwards velocity for no good reason. They’re flying on fuel fumes B.,— _oh…oh God_ , _oh yesss_ —but Armstrong can’t shut off the engines with backwards drift happening. He…he begins to— _oh fuck that’s good_ —calculate how high the Lunar Module can safely… _unnnngh_ _._..freefall— _yesss_ … _oh fuck…do that again B._ —to the surface. It might be okay, it might not. Either way they’re going down. _Fuck yes…mmmm_. They’re doing down. And then— _ah God, B_.—then **_contact_**.”

And at last they’re flush against each other, skin to skin, Benny deep, deep within. Right to the hilt. Benny grins wickedly, wraps his arms tight around Bad Cop, raises his lips slowly to Bad Cop’s ear.

“ _The Eagle has landed_.”

  
“Benny, no.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is all paperspot’s doing. She headcanoned the premise for this fic as well as the premise that Benny regularly uses science to seduce BC. Bless her wonderful wicked soul.


End file.
